


The Ghosts of Winterfell

by agirlmustwrite



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Ghosts, Post-Series, Queen in the North, Supernatural Elements, The King in The North
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-07-22 07:25:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7425538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlmustwrite/pseuds/agirlmustwrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are ghosts in Winterfell. Ghost of the past. Ghosts that haunt. Ghosts that torment. Even ghosts that teach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My inner Jonsa shipper was released from its cage, and my never ending love for Robb Stark decided to join in. I've always liked the idea of Robb and Sansa being close siblings, so I decided to do this. Just to torture myself. So have fun. ;)  
> Disclaimer: I WISH I owned Richard Madd- I mean Game of Thrones! *Cough*Cough*i want both*cough*cough*  
> And do please comment, I'm a bit sad cuz no one comments anymore :'(

Whispers of the ghosts of Winterfell whisks through the biting winter winds.

Not the albino direwolf of the King, but those of the past. Of the family that once looked over the North and its people, who were the jailers of the frosted hell. The winds dance in the ears of the Northrens, telling tales of the Wardens of the North.Builders of the Wall. Kings in the North. The Starks.

The whispers of ghosts are mingled with the whispers of a three eyed raven. Of a lady with a heart of stone, ripped away from the god of death. Of a cannibal who roamed the bear isles. Of a wild wolf who became no one and everyone. Of a little dove who turned into a lion, then a bastard, and finally a wolf again. Of the bastard who became a king.

But Robb Targaryen knows none of those. He knows no ghosts. His mother knows these ghosts, as does his father, but he knows not of them. He knows only his Lady Mother and Lord Father, King and Queen of the North, not of their ghosts.

“They are ours, and ours alone,” his mother explained to him one night as she tucked him into bed with a kiss to his dark red curls. “And I pray to all the gods, Old and New,  that you will never have any of your own, sweetling.”

Not that she ever prays. She hardly visits the godswood, only when necessary. His father does not either. He doesn’t mind. It just means more time that he can spend in the training ring instead of kneeling in front of a tree.

Not that he is getting any better, much to his disappointment. His form was nearly perfect, and he was fairly quick with his attacks, much to his pleasure, but he lacked the defense and raw power of a warrior. Father would rustle his hair, and speak of how strength wasn't the most important aspect of a warrior, but Robb would scowl and say that he didn't understand, he was naturally a great warrior, and never lost.

He'd sometimes attempt spar with Lady Brienne or Ser Podrick, but they were always busy nowadays. the wildlings that would come to talk to his father and mother were at times excellent sparring partners. Tormund was much like his father and Lady Brienne in his fighting style, and he tried to teach him, which usually meant knocking him to the ground with a few bruises and a jest. And he'd never learn a single thing. They assured him he'd learn through example, but it was hard to learn when your being hit in the face with a wooden sword.

In secret, he’d lift a practice sword from the rack, and swing it at the stump in the corner of the ring. Mother would be furious, but he cared not for her opinion at the moment. All he cared was that the sword was heavy, and he barely put scratches on the stump. His hits became static as he became more frustrated, and he grunted in anger and stress, and he made a mighty swing, landing it deep into the trunk. He was ecstatic, until he could not retract it from the trunk, and he growled in frustration as he tried to pull it out, and nearly cried out in anger.

“That's why you should listen to your mother.”

Robb turned his head to see the new comer, and nearly gaped. Had he known better, he would've thought it to be his mother, but it was a man. A man that was almost identical to his mother with Auburn red hair and Tully blue eyes. He looked down at Robb, an amused smile on his face.

“You've ruined a perfectly good blade, and now you can't get it out. You should stick to wooden swords.”

Robb scowled. “Wooden swords are for babes.”

“Really?” The man teased, raising an eyebrow. “How old are you, boy?”

“Seven, but I'll have my eighth name day within the third moon.”

The man laughed, and Robb scowled before the man spoke again. “Certainly not a babe, but you're certainly not old enough for a real blade.”

Robb’s scowl depend, and the man rolled his eyes. “You really are your father's son. You've inherited his brooding scowl.”

“You know my father?” Robb asked, and the man shrugged.

“Doesn't everyone?”

‘Well, that was true.’ he thought, and suddenly a wooden sword was thrown into his unexpected hands. He juggled it for a moment before grasping it firmly. He looked up at the man who held his own wooden sword.

“Well, no use wasting good practice time over a lost sword. Come on, show me how alike you and your father really are.”

Robb found himself surprised as he sparred with the man. His style was close to his own, with quick japes and a very northern form. Robb was able to match him to a degree, but the man was obviously more experienced, and knocked him on his bottom. Robb groaned and looked up to the victor, who gave him an easy smile.

“Well, definitely not the best at defense, but your getting there.”

Robb sniffed and whipped his watering eyes. “It's not fair. Father's the greatest swordsmen alive. What use does the North have for a future king who can't wield a sword?”

The man crouched down to him and angled his head to look Robb straight in the eye. “Is that why you fight? To become King in the North, like your father?”

Robb sniffed. “Of course!”

The man looked at him with solemn, almost sad eyes, and grasped Robb’s shoulder. “Then that is why you struggle. You don't know what you're fighting for.”

Robb looked at the man, and frowned. “What are you saying, I just told you-.”

“You don't fight for something or someone, you fight for glory. For a title. That is why you can't better your defense, because you have nothing to defend.”

“I have myself to defend, so I don't die. That's the whole point of fighting.”

The man sighed, before looking off into the distance. “Do you know of the King in the North? The one before your father?”

Robb thought about it for a moment. No one really talked about the King before anymore, just another ghost that haunted these halls. Except this one had no face in the crypts. Just talks of a wolf. A Young Wolf.

“Only that he was known as the ‘Young Wolf’. They said that he won every battle he ever fought, but lost the war.”

The man didn't acknowledge the comment. Or if he did, he didn't show it physically. “He was a boy king. Only six name days older than you when he was crowned King in the North. He lead his men south, fighting a war against the most powerful family in the seven. All of his battles bringing him one step closer to his prize. To the head of the mad king who beheaded his father and kept his sisters captive.”

“But the battles… They got to his head. He was far too cocky. Too prideful. He mistook luck and the guidance of his mother as his own genius. He was young, too young to see what he was becoming. To see that he was no longer fighting for his sisters, but for his own glory. And when given the opportunity to gain them back, he flat out refused. It would ultimately lead to his fall.”

The man’s eyes had became depressed and weary as he spoke, and his face contorted into long past pain, as if he lost something in the past. Robb asked what happened.

“Many wrong decisions. He gave up his one chance of saving his sisters. He wed a woman he hardly knew, all for the sake of keeping both their honors. He went back on so many of his promises, and he was slaughtered for it, by his own men.”

Robb gaped at the man. To be betrayed by your own men….. Robb could never imagine it. How it must hurt. Father always said the injury that hurt most was one that was felt by a friend.

“The Young Wolf did lose one battle. The battle he had been fighting from the start. All because he forgot what he was fighting for,” the man said cynically, before turning his head to Robb. “But that wasn't even the most tragic part. It was not his tale, but his sister’s that would forever mark his failure.”

The man looked up towards the main halls of Winterfell. Robb followed his gaze, and saw he was looking at the room that had once been his mother’s. It had a window that looked directly out to the Godswood. But it was visible to the training rings.

“Every day, she endured the worst abuse from the lions in stags’ clothing. And Every day, every strike against her, every harsh word, she would return it with curtsies. But behind those curtsies, she would say a silent prayer. She would pray, convince herself that her brother will return every offense a thousand times over. That he would whisk her from her tower and bring her home, just as he had in their games as children.”

The man began to shake as he continued: “Two years she waited. Two years she believed in him, trusted him to save her. She put her faith in a boy who had all but forgotten her for his own glory.”

The man took a shivering breath, “He lost his war because he lost sight of who he was fighting for. He let down his defenses enough to be beheaded and have his direwolf sown to his shoulders because he lost sight of what he was defending, and in return, they were left defenseless as well.”

The man then turned to Robb, his face sobering a bit, and a slip of a smile emerged. “That's where your father came in.”

Robb looked at the man wide eyed. “What of my father?”

The man’s smile turned bittersweet, as if recalling a memory. “You’ve seen your father fight. His defense is impeccable. That is because he never lost sight of who he was fighting for. His family, his brothers, the wildlings,  your mother, and eventually you. He always holds his defense because he never lost sight of who he was truly fighting for. That is why he is the true King in the North.”

Robb stared into space. He never thought about it that way. He always just assumed his father was a natural defender. But as memories of how he stares at mother, as if he'd take on the Night King in hand to hand combat before leaving her out of his sight, how he always refuses to let Robb leave winterfell without him, Robb realizes that his father truly is a wolf, fighting for his pack.

“Now that we've cleared that up, let's try again,” the man says throwing the sword at Robb again. “Now this time, try picturing that you're not you.”

“What?”

“I mean, picture that it's not you I'm attacking, it's someone you want to protec.So you have to defend them with your sword.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Just picture someone.”

Robb rolls his eyes, and complies. When it comes to someone who needs protecting, the first face that comes to mind is his mother. Though he knows she's the strongest lady in the North, with her warm heart yet biting wit and adversity towards southerners, she's easily the perfect Queen in the North. But it's not physically enemies that she needs protection from. It's the ghost of her past that come when father is not there to protect her. Robb looks up and nods, and the sparring begins.

And much to his surprise, his defense began to get better. He was still knocked on his bottom,but this time,he managed to stay up much longer. And the man smiled.

“Well done! That was much better!”

Robb rose to his feet, his cheek flushed from exhaustion and happiness. “I just pretended it was Mother I was protecting.”

The man looked surprised for a minute, before he smiled down at Robb. “Perhaps someday you will be the one.”

Robb looked up at the stranger, and raised an eyebrow. “The one what?”

The man placed a hand on Robb’s hair,nudging his head down as he messed his dark red locks  and said, “The Robb that finally comes to save Sansa.”

Robb suddenly felt the weight of the hand lift, and he turned his head up to ask what he meant. But the man was gone. Nothing but the whistling of the winter winds.

Winterfell has its ghost, but not all are meant to haunt. Some are meant to teach.


	2. Bravery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa supposed she was brave at some point. But no longer, Bravery was once a brother that would someday rescue her from the Red Keep. But when that brother abandoned her, she saw what bravery truly was. Bravery was a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here you go, you masochistic weirdos.   
> I'm joking, I seriously love you all. All the beautiful comments have helped me through some very emotionally stressing times. I hope this meets all your expectations. If not, I am sorry for disappointing, and please tell me your thoughts in the comments.  
> Disclaimer: ....I don't have anything nice to say about D&D at the moment, so lets just say I'm not them or the demi-god that is GRR Martin (Sorry, George, as amazing as you works are, you gotta ways to go before you are JRR Tolkien God status. The man built the this sandbox we call fantasy :p)

At one point, she was brave, she supposed. Back when the only way she'd sleep within the Red Keep and enter the world of her nightmares, which were even worse than the one she was living, she would reassure herself every night.

'I must be brave. Like Robb.’

Now she doesn't know what it's really like to be brave. Bravery had once been her older brother, but that was before he left her to the lions. The face of bravery had morphed into the face of betrayal. Not the betrayal of his Bannerman, but his betrayal. To her. Since she never knew what bravery was.

The North thought Jon brave. The White Wolf. The brave King in the North, they called him. Sansa would have to stifle a laughter. No, Jon was not brave. He was selfish.

He was selfish in the most noble way possible. He wanted his home back, so he took it back. He wanted to be accepted by someone, so he made sure he was likeable to the people of the North. And he didn't know how to do that by himself, so he made sure that he kept her close by, she who knew how to camouflage into any environment and speak what people wanted to hear. That's why they worked so good together, because she shared his selfishness. She wanted the North, no outsiders could hold her home. And she wanted Jon, the only person who she could truly feel safe with. So when news of his true heritage arrived, she dragged him to the godswood before any dragon queen could even get a good look at him. They had finally gotten the North back. She'd be damned if some outsider took claim over  **her** home and  **her** Jon. 

Neither of them were truly brave. They were selfish. But if anything, it made their love stronger. It was the sense of possessiveness for each other that kept away the demons at night that tried to steal them both. At night, Sansa's demons were kept at bay by her husband’s embrace.

But tonight was not one of those nights. Jon had business at the wall, and would not return till the morrow. So Sansa was left to fight her dream demons by herself, her lions in stags' clothing, her dead parents, and her dead siblings all staring at her, drilling her with the guilt of the living. And Sansa was not brave.

She screamed and tossed and kicked in her sleep, even as her eyes opened, she frantically grabbed for the familiar figure by her side as she screamed for the ghosts of her past to leave.

And to her surprise, and somewhat relief, she found a body. Her breathing became less erratic, and she slowly rested her hands on the person. She looked up, expecting to find her husband come early, but instead found that she held her son.

“Robb,” she breathed, as her little boy stared sleepily at her with his Stark grey eyes. “What are you doing awake?”

“You were having a scary dream,” her darling boy mumbled, and she felt a pang of guilt. “So I came to protect you.”

Sansa felt her heart warm before grabbing her son and pulling him to her side. “My little Robb, the bravest person I know”  _ The only truly brave person I know. _

It felt odd to know that she created something so pure and noble. She who managed to reach her position through sly manipulation, who  made her mentor fly out the Vale, by slaughtering every person who did her wrong. She was a wolf. A savage wolf through and through. And her son was a pup. A sweet and innocent pup, and she felt a failure of a mother for subjecting him to her hauntings.

“I've gotta protect you,” her little Robb almost whispered as he wrapped his arms around his mother, his tiny limbs trying there best to make a protective cocoon. “He told me to.”

That caused Sansa to turn her head to face her son. “Who told you to protect me? Your father?”

“Nope,” he grumbled, before yawning out his response. “The man in the training ring.”

Sansa lifted her head and raised an eyebrow. “What man?”

But Robb was already asleep. Sansa felt her stomach stir. It unnerved her that her son was talking to a stranger. Mayhaps it was not a stranger, maybe just one of the bannerman that Robb forgot the name of. She shook her head and pulled her son closer, easing slightly back into sleep. Her lion nightmares slowly dissipated into direwolf dreams.

 

-~-

 

Sansa woke up to Jon joining their little family huddle, and she felt slightly embarrassed that she missed his arrival. But he assured her that it was nothing, and to go back to sleep. She did so, until a server barged in, declaring that a letter came from the Queen in the South, announcing that she would arrive today to discuss reconstruction of the wall. More specifically how she  **didn't** want the wall reconstructed. 'The White walkers are vanquished. Winter has passed. There is no need for the wall anymore. Our world is at peace. The free folk must join us if we are to keep it that way’ is what she stated in her last letter.

Sansa held no qualms over Queen Daenerys as a person. She was kind and assertive. But she did find her ruling abilities quite lacking. She was a conquer, not a queen. Her “conform to my new world or burn in the old” philosophy unnerved Sansa. The North understood that the free folk would not conform to Westeros’ ways, and the wall was a symbol of their own border. Jon respected that. Daenery did not. It was in this that Sansa could not fully look forward to her good aunt’s visit.

The Queen in the North stood before the gates of Winterfell in her most regal attire. A white dress with direwolves sown into the hem, creating a scene of a pack hunting. She wore a fur coat that matched her husband's, who chose to adorn his black clothing as a nod to his Targaryen heritage, but the Stark house sigil stood proudly on the letters of his cloak. It was their son that concerned her. He was dressed in his finest northern clothing, but the wooden sword he snuck out caused her to frown.

“Robb, we are to meet the Queen. This is no place for toys,” she said sternly.

“It's not a toy,” Robb insisted. “It's my defense!”

“Your defense, eh?”Jon asked as he smiled down at his son. “Who do you need to defend yourself from? Drogon isn't as scary as he looks.”

“I'm not defending myself. I'm protecting Mother.”

Sansa blinked in surprise, before letting out a small chuckle. “Robb, you're being silly I don't need protection.”

“Don't worry about protecting yourself and your mother, Robb. That's my job,” Jon assured, but Robb pouted.

“But he told me to.”

Jon raised an eyebrow before turning to Sansa, wordlessly asking her to explain. She frowned at her son's response. The whole stranger in the practice ring was still concerning her. 

“Robb made a friend at the practice ring.”

“He helped me with my defense,” Robb stated proudly.

Jon blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“Yep, now I can fight anyone! Even you, Father!”

That made Jon bark out a laugh. He then reached down and ruffled his son’s head and said “Well then, once I'm done talking to Aunt Daenerys we just might have to test that theory.”

Robb smiled, but quickly jumped in fright when a screeching roar pierced the air. Sansa looked up in the distance to see a shadow approaching the gates, nearly blocking out the sun. Below the figure she could see the dust of a horse cavalry. The great figure soared closer, to reveal a magnificent dragon. It rushed far past the grounded men, racing towards Winterfell. Sansa clutched Robb close as the large beast speed right past them, circling their home before finally expanding its wings to stop. A large gale sent some of the squire's and servants to their knees, but the Queen and King stood tall as the creature landed, revealing a petite woman atop the beast. Jon offered a bow.

“Hail Queen Daenerys Targaryen. Stormborn. First of her name-”

“Oh, quite Jon. No need for all that,” the Queen in the South tuted as she slide off her dragon. Jon smiled and pulled her into a hug.

She was dressed in the most elegant of Southern attire, though much more modest than anything Cersei ever wore. Thank the gods, because the poor thing was already looking cold. Once she stepped away from Jon she turned to Sansa and smiled kindly.

“Sansa, you're looking as radiant as ever.”

“Not as fair as you, good aunt,”Sansa replied with politeness yet with an affectionate undertone. The two Queen's embraced, before the Daenerys turned to Robb.

“My word, you're almost as tall as your mother.” She said as she crouched down to his level, and Robb tilted his head.

“Isn't it supposed to be 'your almost as tall as your father?’”

Daenerys looked between Sansa and Jon and shrugged. “Well, it should, bet let's be fair, you Father didn't inherit the Stark height.”

Sansa let out a snort of laughter at the comment, which she tried to hide to save her husband’s already wounded pride. His face was almost as red as her hair. She gave him a reassuring squeeze of the hand, before turning her attention back to Daenerys.

“We are glad to host you,Dany, but I must inquire: where is your accompaniment?”

Daenerys looked back at the riders who were frantically making their way to the gates, and she smiled. “They are not Dothraki riders. They can not match a dragon's speed. I'm afraid I might have left them in the dust.

The riders approached Winterfell, the Targaryen banners riding high in the sky. Robb seemed to gape at the Queen's Guard and all their magnificents. But it was not the size of the army that made Sansa’s face brighten, it was the two people at the head of the bannermen.

“Queen Daenerys, please don't do that again! It is very painful to ride in a saddle that fas-.”

“Greyjoy, save it for the people who actually have something being crushed by the saddle. Seriously, when am I getting that dwarf horse? It looked so fluffy and like its galloping wouldn't crush my balls.”

Sansa ran over to the two bickering men who began to dismount their horses, and pulled the tallest one into a hug. He seemed caught off guard, before he wrapped his arms around Sansa.

“It is good to see you too, Sansa.”

Sansa pulled back and beamed at her old friend. “You never wrote you'd be coming along.”

Theon shrugged. “Well, I wasn't going to at first. Work’s been keeping me busy, being Master of Ships and all-.”

“UNCLE THEON!”

The Ironborn lord was sent tumbling to the ground as Robb bolted into him, tackling him with a hug. But he didn’t seem to mind as he laughed.

“Well, who might this be? Can’t be Little Robb, he was barely Tyrion’s height when I last saw him!” 

“I am Robb!” Robb pouted.

“Can’t be! Your taller then Tyrion by a head!”

Robb’s smile brightened. “Really?” He asked, before turning to Tyrion, who had dismounted his horse. “Is that true, Lord Tyrion?”

Tyrion craned his head up a bit, before shaking his head. “I’m afraid so, little prince… Though I can’t rightfully call you little anymore.”

Robb turned to his mother, and his father who had walked over to greet the two. “Did you hear that? I’m taller then Lord Tyrion!”

Jon chuckled as he helped Theon to his feet. “Truly? Tyrion did you hear that? My boys not even eight, and he's towering over you. That must be a new record.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes before grumbling. “He certainly did not get that from you. Must be his giantess mother.” He then shot an apologetic smile at Sansa. “No offence, Lady Sansa.”

“ **Queen** Sansa,” she jested, and he gave her a grin before she pulled him into a hug, only to be shoved apart by little Robb, who glared at Tyrion.

“Did you make a jest at my lady mother?”

“Robb!” Sansa scolded, bit Tyrion laughed.

“I would dare not dream of it, little prince! Not with all the wolves that could tear my throats here!”

Robb chewed his lip, before nodding his head. “Okay, but just remember, should you make a jest, I'll have to fight you for her honor!”

Both Tyrion and Theon blinked, and Sansa groaned in embarrassment. Then the two burst into laughter, as well as Jon and Daenerys.

“Quite the future King you will make, Prince Robb,” the southern queen laughed. 

“Talking like a king is one thing, fighting like one is another,” Theon jested, before clasping the young prince on the shoulder. “Come now, let's see how that defense of yours has gone along. If that is all right with their majesties.”

Daenerys waved them off. “I shall send for you when we're done. Until then, make sure you don't strain your arm. Yara would murder me.”

Robb turned to his parents with puppy eyes, and Sansa relented. Then the two headed back into the gates. 

Jon turned to his aunt and asked, “Is there a reason for your Master of Ships to be so far from any sort of harbor?”

Daenerys shook her head. “It's his holiday off.”

“Ah.”

“Well, now that Greyjoy is gone,”Tyrion injected. “Let us get down to why were truly here.”

And they did. And thankfully, a guard rushed into the throne room just in the middle of their meeting. Had they been a second later, Sansa would have let Ghost loose on Tyrion. His plan was outrageous and offensive. Having every widling relocate into a designated area, just so Dany could reach her kingdom further? It was a joke. Thankfully, the Queen did not seem all too ecstatic for it, so perhaps there was hope in this. 

But concerns became more personal as the guards informed her that something happened in the practice ring. She saw red as she raced out of the throne rooms, images of Bran lying in bed, his body twisted and broken from the fall flashed through her head. If Robb was in anyway hurt, no matter if he was one of her oldest and dearest friends, she would murder Theon. 

Relief flushed over her as Robb ran towards her. She wrapped him in her arms and checked him for scratches or bruises, or gods forbid blood, but he was completely fine. But his dark grey eyes were wide with concern.

“Robb, are you alright? What happened?”

“I-I don't know,” her son stammered. “I was sparring with Uncle Theon, and he said I was getting a lot better. But for some reason, he just froze up. He looked like he was staring at something behind me, but when I looked behind, there was nothing.”

Sansa looked behind her son, and saw that Theon was standing. He was completely frozen, almost like a statue. She started to approach him and as she rounded to his face, she saw his vacant stare. His green eyes were glossed over, and his whole body seemed to shake as he looked out, mumbling under his breath. She followed his gaze, and saw nothing. But she recognized were the door in front of him lead to, and she felt her breath catch.

Without looking at him, she whispered to her son, “Robb, I need you to inform your Aunt Daenerys and Father that i need to handle this alone.”

Robb looked up at her a question about to pour from his lips, and Sansa raised her voice. “Robb. Now.”

And with that, Robb scampered out of the practice rink, heading towards the oncoming voices of Jon and Tyrion. But Sansa ignored them. She approached Theon directly,and as she got closer, she could hear his mumbling clearer. She still couldn't understand it, but she had her suspicions.

“Theon,” she said, and Theon jumped, a choked gasp escaping his mouth as he looked at her. He was still trembling, and looked like a startled stag in the middle of a hunt. She gently placed a hand on his face and cupped it. 

“Theon, he's gone. His name, his house, everything that was his, is gone. Forever.” She turned around, and looked at the kennels. “Whatever ever happened in there-.”

“He's there. He's there Sansa.”

Sansa bit her lip as she reassured him,”Theon, Ramsay dead. We made sure of-”

“Not Ramsay,” he whispered, lifting up a shaky finger. “He… He still has the head… Sansa, he still has the head!”

“Theon, what are you talking about?”

“Right there. He's standing right behind you, Sansa.”

She whipped her head around, but saw nothing. She groaned  as she turned back to face him. 

“Theon, there's no one th-.”

He breath caught in her throat and she felt her blood freeze. Behind her friend was a large figure, covered in blood and arrows, a bleeding direwolf head placed on top of the shoulders of the obviously human body, it's snarling snout covered in blood as it heaved breaths. She felt a scream boil in her throat, and Theon looked at her and smiled.

“See? Robb is here.”

 

-~-

News of the Sansa and Theon's “episode” traveled through Winterfell. And many a servants knew not to bother the Queen as she locked her chambers, refusing to come to the dinner welcoming the Daenerys. She sat instead in front of her fireplace, staring into the fires. Trying to keep away from the darkness. 

Her ghosts lay in the darkness, there was no way she would stay in a dimly lit dining room. Ladyship be damned, she needed to collect herself, lest she further ruin her guests’ we both her paranoia of…. whatever it was she saw.

She heard a knock at the door, and grumbled loudly, “I am not hungry. Please take it back to the kitchens. Or feed it to Ghost.”

“Well, I don't think it would be wise to feed our child to a direwolf, but if you insist.”

Sansa picked up her head, and slowly lifted herself from the ground as she walked over to the door, making sure to stay in the light. She released the bolts on her door, before opening it. She stared at her husband,i n both surprise and anger.

“What are you doing here? You have a feast to host!”

“But I also have a Queen in distress.”

“You are King in the North. You need to represent the North as a stronghold in front of our allies,” she snapped, and he shook his head as he pleases pulled her into a hug

“I am a husband before I am a king. Dany will not mind, nor will our bannermen.”

Sansa let out a huff of air, marching back to her spot in front of the fireplace, and patterns down the spot next to her. 

“Come now. If we're going to be disgrace to the North, might as well do it in warmth.”

Jon and Robb obliged, sitting next to her on the same rug as the fire cracked. Robb rested his head on Sansa’s lap, and she stroked it as she leaned against Jon. He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek, to which Robb made a gagging noise.

“Eww, gross.”

“Robb,” she snapped, and Jon laughed.

“It's gross now, but once you find a girl, it won't be so gross anymore.”

Robb scrunched his face in disgust. “No, not me. I'm never gonna marry.”

Sansa laughed before poking Robb’s stomach. “That's right, no woman is more important in my Robb’s life then his mother.”

Robb tried to keep a straight face, but began to burst into giggles, begging for her to stop tickling him. He retaliated, poking her in the sides, and soon it escalated as Jon pinned them both to the ground and tickled them both mercilessly. Through the tears of joy, Sansa secretly sent a prayer to the Gods for giving her such wonderful blessings after her hell of a life. 

But the joyous family clump was interrupted as a knock to the door tang. Jon groaned, and collected himself, before calling for or the intruder to come in. A guard came in, informing Jon that Dany asked for his presence. He heaved a sigh, before turning to his son and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Until I return, look after your mother. Can you do that for me, Robb?”

Robb nodded furiously. “I will protect her, Father.”

Jon smiled and ruffled his hair, before turning to Sansa and pressed his lips on hers. She closed her eyes slightly as he tenderly kissed her, and when he released, she let out a sigh of content. 

“When I return, we shall have to talk of what was ailing you,” he promised, and she let a predatory smile graced her face as she leaned in and whispered.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait till we're done with my other plans for when you return, my king.”

When she pulled back, she had to contain a giggle as Jon’s face flushed, before he returned her a wolfish smile. He then left the room, and Robb looked up at her with inquisitive eyes.

“What did you say to father?”

“Adult things, my darling.”

“Oh.”

Sansa picked herself up, before lifting Robb into her arms. He let out a giggle, but offered no resistance as she lifted him to his feet.

“I think it's past your bed time, little one.”

Robb shook his head, but the yawn that escaped his mouth told her otherwise. She helped him up to the bed, and pulled the covers over him. She then brushed his hair away from his forehead, and kissed it.

“Goodnight, Robb.”

The little boy yawned, before smiling sleepily, “ ‘Night, Mother.”

She stepped away from the bed, starting to walk back to the fireplace, but then a question formed in her mind, and she felt the fear creep into her spine as she asked.

“Robb?”

“Hmm?”

“Did..Did you… When Theon had that episode… Are you sure you didn’t see anything?”

Robb raised himself, and looked at her in confusion. “No, why?”

Sansa sighed in relief. And slight fear. “Alright, go back to sleep, sweetling.”

Robb fell back down to the bed, and Sansa turned to face the fire. Dread formed in the bottom of her stomach as she thought back to the apparition she saw. It was no trick of her own mind. Whatever it was, Theon saw it as well. And that terrified her. But none of these realizations haunted her nearly as much as Theon’s words. 

‘See? Robb is here.’ Those words conjured unwanted memories. Memories that she buried far back down. She would not allow those memories to reappear, not with her son in the room. So she stared into the fireplace, until the heaviness of her eyes failed her attempts to stay awake, and she answered the call of sleep.

When she did awaken, it was to the sounds of a hushed voice. That she could not make out.

She lifted her head, rubbing her eyes as she looked over to the bed. She instantly sobered from her tiredness as she saw Robb missing. She scanned the room, and found him crouching before the part of the room where the fire bled no light, and she sighed in relief. As she approached her son, she heard him mumbling to himself.

“I know...Maybe she was just shocked….I know you didn’t mean to…”

“Robb?” she asked, worry etching her face. “Robb, who are you talking-”

She froze as she saw a foot emerge from the shadows. The owner of the foot slowly came into light, and Sansa felt her throat clench as the specter from earlier emerged, its ghastly wounds bleeding down, droplets of red disappearing before they touched the ground. The wolf head lifted, looked up, as if it could look at her. She looked down at Robb, her mother instincts screaming for her to protect her cub as she reached for the dagger in her boot and threw it at the spektor. It slowly dissolved away as the dagger passed through, and Robb whipped his head around, and his eyes widened as he looked at her.

“Robb, come with me, now!”

“Mother, it isn’t-”

She took his hand, and held her skirts as she raced to the door, “We need to find your father! We need to tell him about that-that  **thing** .”

“Mother, he’s not a thing! He’s a-”

“It must be some creature of winter left behind. We need to get Drogon or Longclaw-.”

“Mother, he’s not a creature! He’s my friend!”

Sansa halted her hand on the handle on the door as she looked down at her son. “What do you mean by friend?”

“He’s the one who taught me how to defend myself! He’s done nothing wrong! He was just going to apologize for scaring you! Why are you afraid of him?”

A million reasons rang through her head as to why she was afraid of the spector. But one reason rang louder than anyone else. Is that she knew exactly  **who** the spectre took a form of. And she was in no shape in form going to reveal that part of her past to Robb any time soon. So the answer died in her throat, and she reached for the handle, only for it to be opened by the guard in front of her door.

“My lady, is there anything the matter in here?” he asked, blocking the whole of the door.

Sansa frowned, before moving to the side of the guard.“Nothing, but i need to see my lord husband, so if you would be so kind as to please move.”

“I’m afraid i can't do that, Lady Sansa.”

“ **Queen** Sansa,” she reminded. “And it is urgent, so i need you to mo-”

Her sentence died off as a knife was held against her juggler, and she looked up in fear at the guard. He looked at her with a menacing smirk, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

“There is no queen but Queen Cersei of House Lannister.”

She fought back the urge to roll her eyes. Another Lannister loyalist. It wasn’t common, but not unexpected for one to make a threat to her, and she’d either laugh it off or set Ghost loose on them. But Ghost wasn’t here. But Robb was. And she looked down at him, fear and pleads to run pouring from her eyes in a small tear. 

But her Robb was far too much Stark. He had too much wolf’s blood. His dark grey eyes had turned feral, as he grabbed the spare dagger in her boot and stabbed the man in the knee. The guard cried out in pain, releasing his dagger, but not without nicking or throat. A bead of blood dropped down onto her collarbone, but she gave little care as the guard pulled out the dagger, and charged at her son, who ran back into the room.

She didn't think twice. She hurdled herself at the assailant, throwing him to the ground. She immediately caught the dagger that was heading for her side but not the one that pierced her shoulder. She cried out in pain enough for the attacker to pin her to the ground, the other dagger poised to stab her chest. But the man stiffened, blood spurting from his mouth. He collapsed the ground, revealing Robb who was holding the dagger she had thrown.Her son leaped onto the man and repeatedly stabbed him in the chest, blood spluttering every which way as he carved the man who attacked his mother.

Sansa gritted her teeth as she pulled the dagger from her shoulder, before rushing to her son, who was screaming in anger. She reached his arm, stilling it as she tried to calm him. He continued to fight her, and she tried to soothe him.

“Shhh. Shhh, calm down. Robb, it's done, he’s dead. Robb, it’s okay. Robb, you did it, you saved us. You saved me ”

He stiffened, his flailing ceased as he relaxed his grip on the dagger, he shook as he slowly turned his head to her, tears gathering in his eyes.

“I-I did?”

She felt tears well in her eyes as she smoothed his hair and stroked his cheek. “You saved us, my brave son. My brave hero. My brave Robb.”

The tears fell from his grey eyes, and he buried his face in her shoulder as he sobbed out, And Sansa gripped him close as she allowed herself to join him in her own sobs. They were soon found like this by Jon, who rushed in as soon as he heard screaming. Any sane man would have began aghast by the bloody slaughter done done by a child and a lady, but he had seen too  much to be sane. Instead he held both his wife and child as they cried.

 

-~-

 

Daenerys accepted that there would be quite some time before any formal issues could be addressed, and handled it very well. She told Jon that no reasonable ruler would ever judge another for wanting to keep their kin safe, and with that she retired to her chambers. After receiving a heartfelt apology from Tyrion, who promised to do whatever it took to repent for the bringing that guard to the North, Jon and Sansa followed  Dany’s example, and it lead to Sansa watching her husband asleep on her bed, clutching their son as if he’d never let him go. Sansa smiled fondly at the picture before her, befor reaching for her embroidery on her desk.

She was almost finished with the pup on her scenery of a direwolf pack when she felt it. A cool hand on her bandaged shoulder. She winced, and turned to see who it was.

She should have felt a scream boil in her mouth, but instead only sorrow washed over. She felt tears well in her eyes as she stared into the dead ones of Grey Wind.

“Why must you torment me like this, phantom?” she pleaded as a single tear rolled down her cheek. And the creature takes a step back, as if surprised. But she lets out a choked sob as she felt the tears fall down.

“Now that I have what I always dreamed of, must you come and torment me with what I lost? To remind me that there was a time when no one loved me as much as my Jon and my son do now? That my son is is named after a man who I thought loved me, who found that a title was more important than his own little sister?”

Her collected her tears, glaring up at the spectre and growled. “Begone, demon. You are no more than an apparition. And that name belongs to my son now, and my son alone. And I’ll be damned if I have to associate it with your grotesque illusion ever again.”

The creature stood there for a second in complete stillness, before reaching its hands for the head. Sansa almost recoiled in disgust as the head was lifted, blood oozing as it lifted from it human shoulders.

But repulsion turned to shock, as the head was removed to reveal the head of a man she had never seen. Not in person, that is. She had known the boy, with dark red hair and warm hugs, but never the man with a beard he that never quite grew into and the hardened Tully blue eyes. But the fond smile gave away everything.

“ Aye, I hope you never do,” Robb said sadly. Sansa could barely form a coherent thought before she felt arms wrap her in an embrace.

It felt so...So real. The warmth of him, his smell of fresh snow and the lemon cakes he used to sneak her in the dead of night in their childhood. The softness of his hair against her cheek as he buried his face in her shoulder. The shaking as sobs rang through the air. It couldn’t be real. Robb… Her first Robb.. He was dead. Gone. But oh how alive he felt as he squeezed her tightly, muffled sobs escaping from the ghost.

“I’m sorry...I’m-I’m so sorry, Sansa,” he croaked, his voice pitching at her name. She silently said ‘fuck it’ to reality, and wrapped her arms around her brother, sobbing out all the years of pent up betrayal.

“I know, Robb, I know,” she whispered, sniffling as she clung to insanity itself. But she did not care. He was here, he was in her arms. He was hers to cry on. Hers too hold.

He let out a shaky breath, looking at her with bloodshot eyes as tears continued to roll down his face. She reached to wipe it away, but once her hand touched his skin, it began to ripple, almost disappearing. Panic fled her as she retracted her hand, and Robb began to become transparent. She choked out a cry. She couldn’t lose him, not when she just got him back. He grasped her hand like a vice, even though it was slowly fading, she could feel the warmth surrounding her own. 

Robb smiled a broken smile as he looked towards the two sleeping figures. “Jon was always the protector then I was. After everything you’ve both been through, I’m glad you have each other. I couldn’t have asked for more… And little Robb...He was able to do what I never did… You raised a fine son, little sister.”

Sansa laughed brokenly, but gasped when Robb’s hand faded, and she stared into Robb’s downcast eyes.

 “Sansa, I don’t have much time… I was such a fool. A stupid boy, and you were hurt because of it. I will never forgive myself for that, and I don’t expect you to forgive me either… But just know.. That no matter what, I have, and will always love you. I was blinded, but I never stopped loving you.”

Sansa nodded, a choked sob coming out as her heart swelled and broke at the same time, ‘Nor I you, Robb.”

“C- **Could** you forgive me?”

She should be screaming at him. Cursing him for leaving her to the lions, but the way he pleaded, the way he sobbed, clutching her like he would never let go again, she let out a shaky breath. She collected his disappearing form in her arms, closing her eyes as she let the tears flow and kissed his forehead as she whispered

“I forgive you.”

The weight in her arms left, and she opened her eyes to find nothing but a breeze of winter winds, blowing specks of snow on her hair, his hair, their hair, and felt it melt on her head as she sobbed loudly.

That was the night where the Queen of the North remembered what bravery truly meant. It did not mean facing your ghosts. No.

True bravery was forgiving them

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please tell me what you think! :D


	3. Rememberence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, laughter truly is the best medicine. For a broken spirit, a broken heart, a broken man. Even a broken bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! And this time its with everyone's favorite Greyjoy-turned-Reek-turned-Greyjoy-again: Theon! :D  
> Okay, I know that he's not the most popular person in the fandom, but I seriously can not stress how much I absolutly adore Theon. He is my trash son, and if his redemition is not your cup of tea, then I respect that. But please respect my love for him, and that if you say anything nasty about, him in the comments, please respect that I will respond with the following statement:  
> Fight me! (ง'̀-'́)ง  
> But if its my writing of his character, feel free to criticize! Because as much as I love him, I find it very hard to write his point of view.  
> Disclaimer: I own as many things as Jon Snow knows

 

The news had come to him through the Spider. Not to him directly, to his sister. He stood behind the mast, sweeping the guts of an earlier catch as Lord Varys spoke to her. War stories were for people to worry about. He was not a prince, or a turn cloak. He was not even a man. How could the latest Westeros battle possibly affect him?

"It seems the Bolton bastard has met his end.”

It didn't register for a minute. The words sailed past his ears like a northern wind. But once it did settle, he let out a scream. A strange scream, as it was not loud. It started out like a hack, choppy and hoarse. But expenationaly grew in volume. It didn't sound like any scream he had let out before. It sounded almost like crying, but not quite. It was almost bell like,melodic. as he continued the sound, he remembered where he had heard this sound. It was that odd sound Master-

No. It was that noise Ramsay made whenever he had begged for mercy. Whenever that bastard went hunting some poor innocent girl. That odd, throaty cry, that he made whenever he was enjoying himself.

_'Come now Reek! Laugh with me!’_

Laughter…..He was laughing!

A familiar sound, a sob, escaped his throat. It had been so long since he laughed. It was so foreign, yet so familiar. Like an old friend. And he welcomed it.

He cared not that half the fleet stared at him as he screamed in laughter, bent over the railing as he let the terrifyingly hoarse sound. He didn't care if everyone found him mad for his reaction. That his sister punched him for almost falling over board.  He just laughed harder. And when she said he was allowed to cry if he wanted in their cabins, he cackled like a madman.

He laughed because that's what Theon Greyjoy did in every situation. And he was finally Theon Greyjoy again.

 

-~-

 

He honestly couldn't help it. When it was announced that Jon Snow, Jon Fucking Snow, was King in The North, in truth Lyanna Stark’s son by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, and to top it off, had married Sansa Stark, he lost it. He bursted out laughing in the middle of Daenerys discussing possible marriage alliances with her allies. 

Not his best idea, on the account of the Unsullied nearly skewering him in the account of “offending their queen”. But he didn't care. It had nothing to do with her.

No, it had all to do with Jon finally pulling his head out of his head and finally realising what Theon had seen for years. He recalled Ned Stark's bastard as a whelp, looking like a kicked puppy whenever little Sansa made him play the evil dragon, and how he would look on in envy whenever Robb, her designated prince, would rescue her and she’d gift to him a flower crown.

Some would say it was an innocent jealousy, but as it continued into their later adulthood, he knew it was anything but.  Theon, ever the one to remind Jon of his heritage, had loved to poke fun at his “base born urges”.  Mostly out of necessity of making him feel better about himself. Theon was no stranger to forbidden wants. And it was understandable to him, Sansa was a very beautiful, just like her brother…

He buried that down with a laugh. Who'd have thought that the evil dragon would wed the maid?  The beauty in the irony was priceless, and he continued to laugh till he nearly shat himself.

 

-~-

 

He wasn't neglecting his duty. Technically, he was upholding relations with the North, and his sister could easily command a fleet and rule the Iron Isles. Embarrassingly, he couldn't say the same for his control of a horse. It hurt for him to ride, not in the way it used to when he…. Well, it was different. But he would bear it. He needed to do this.

He took in a deep breath as he stood at the front of the gates, the Stark banner waving in the biting winter wind. A guard called out to him, asking who he was. 

“Theon of House Greyjoy, Master of Ships to Queen Daenerys Targaryen of the South.”

How odd it was to say his name again. All these titles didn't feel like they belonged to him. The name felt awkward in his tongue. But as the gates opened to reveal Snow, broody as ever, even in his royal atire, all the strangeness was washed away as a wave of nervousness rushed over him.

Sansa had been the one to invite him, but he was still weary of Jon’s opinion on him. He didn't blame him, after all he did. One act of goodness did not wash a million sins. The looming threat of his direwolf stood as a reminder of what the boy he had teased was capable of as a man. 

He stepped forward, and kneeled infront of the King in the North, expecting Ghost's breath on the back of his neck, waiting to snap it. But it never came, just a hand grasping the collar of his cloak and hoisting him to his feet. And he was met by a small teasing twinkle in the King’s eye. 

“Bout damn time you learned some humility, Greyjoy.”

A heavy weight was lifted off his shoulders, and a jest rose in his throat. “No. I was just trying to reach your height, Snow.”

“Targaryen,” Jon corrected, a small smirk appeared in his face as he surprised Theon with an embrace. He stiffened, not expecting it, but he didn't refuse it.  Mayhaps he was worried for not.

“One wrong move against Sansa,” Jon whispered, causing Theon to stiffen. “And you'll be missing more than your cock.”

Or not. But hey, it was better than nothing.

“Reasonable,” Theon said before breaking away, hiding his slight disappointment with a smirk. And Jon raised an eyebrow, before shaking his head.

“You really haven't changed.”

‘Oh, if only’, Theon thought, but laughed. He clasped Jon’s shoulder, swaggering into Winterfell as he had done so many times before so long ago. It was almost like reliving a past life as he took in the rebuilt stronghold. Relief and guilt mixed in an odd  feeling that burned his stomach. He chased away with a quick smack on Jon’s back.

“So, speaking of which, where is Sansa? Not at the front gate to greet her guests? Lady Catelyn would be mortified!”

He worried for a second, as Ghost let out a low growl, and was even more worried when a disturbed look crossed Jon’s face. Did he say something wrong? Was there something wrong with Sansa? 

“Well, no. Uhm, you see-”

“AAAAGGGHHH!!!!!!!”

Theon jumped a foot as the scream rang through the halls. He turned to Jon, who had turned as white as his direwolf. 

“Jon, what the fu-.”

“My Lord! My Lord!”

Theon turned to running boy-well, more man than boy. But he appeared to be a squire, mayhaps. With his sword and lack of a family crest.

“Podrick,” Jon breathed out. “How is-”

“She's alright, my lord!” The boy said breathlessly. “They are both alright! Lady Brienne sent me to tell you to come quickly, though, so you can meet them!”

Before Theon could ask anything, Jon broke into a sprint. Cursing under his breath, he followed him, rushing through Winterfell, until they reached- was that not Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn’s room?

A crowd of servants and- wait, were those wildlings?- gathered around the room, making way for Jon as he pushed through. Theon tried to follow him, until rather large red bearded fellow who was insistent on getting in knocked him to the ground. Grunting in pain, Theon got to his knees and crawled underneath the crowd to get inside the chamber. At least he got that much out if his last time within these halls. 

Once inside, it was quite the scene. A rather fat man fretting around and a pretty little lass and a woman that could rival The Mountain in height helped him change out bloodied sheets and water. An old man was standing next to the bed,  tears rolling down his smiling face. On the same side, Theon could make out Jon, who was holding a small bundle in his arms, tears threatening to spill from his own eyes.

“Oh Sansa...He-he-.”

“I told you it would be the perfect name, wouldn't it?”

He couldn't help himself. In curiosity, he approached the bed. He was able to see Sansa fully, drenched in sweat and her shift bloodied. Shock filled him as the puzzle finally fit together. And Sansa looked up at him and smiled broadly.

“Theon!” She whispered excitedly, her voice a bit hoarse. “You came! Here, would you like to meet him?”

Everything in his being screamed for him to say no. He didn't deserve to touch something so innocent. But before he could voice it, he felt something slightly heavy put in his arms. Instinctively he gripped it close to his chest, fearing it would fall, despite Jon’s hands still on the bundle. He looked up at Jon, who had forgone the worry in his eyes, and was instead filled with trust for him and love for the life in his arms.

“If it wasn't for you, he would have never existed. You're still a gigantic arse-.”

“Jon!”

“But I can't deny I owe you, Theon.  Please, hold him.”

Blinking in surprise, he dumbly gaped at Jon. It never occurred to him- he didn't have much time to think it over as Jon let go, and Theon adjusted his hold, and finally looked at the bundle. And he gasped.

He looked up at him with the Stark grey eyes-the eyes of his father and grandfather- but the rest was his mother. The pale skin, the high cheekbones protruding beneath the baby fat,  the dark curly red hair. He looked like a male version if Sansa. He looked like-.

“Theon, this is Robb. Robb II Targaryen.”

And Theon laughed. He laughed till tears streamed down his face.

 

-~-

 

“Ouch! Oh, the shame! The Prince of the North, striking down an old cripple!”

“Uncle Theon, you're not old.”

 “Ah, but I'm still a cripple!”

“So? If a cripple can run an armada, can't he take a few blows from a boy?”

'Snarky bastard, I've taught him too well.’ he thought, but was secretly proud. No matter what, he would be proud of little Robb. 

He made a swing for Robb's open side, but the little sneak blocked it. He twisted his hand, and Theon hissed as the wooden blade smacked his wrist. He dropped his sword, and little Robb grinned in victory.

“I win!”

“I suppose you did,” Theon said with a chuckle. “You've defiantly improved since last time. Looks like your father’s lessons have finally stuck.”

Robb shook his head. “No, my friend helped me!”

“Friend? Anyone I'd know?”

Robb shook his head. “I don't think so. No one else seems to.”

“Well, can I meet him? I need to know his secrets to defeating you,” he jested, genuinely curious. Robb perked up.

“Sure! Hold in, he's behind you, let me grab him!”

As Robb rushed past him,Theon turned to see the new comer. His smirk dropped.There was no person, but the stalls were very familiar. It was decrepit, neglected. Unlike much if the practice ring, it wasn't reconstructed, as if it was left to rot. He watched Robb through the broken panels, seemingly searching for someone. As he walked, the wood squeaked and creaked under the weight.

_'Squek…? Creak…? That… that rhymes with-’_

“Uncle Theon! I found him!”

Snapping out of his momentary lapse,he let out a relieved breath, and looked to Robb, who was leading a tall man outside the kennels. He was prepared to make a jest of lurking in the shadows, until the man came into view. His blood ran cold.

“Uncle Theon, this is my friend!”

He couldn't move. He was frozen as he stared at the vision of something he had otherwise banished altogether from his mind. The arrows protruding from his chest, the blood dripping from the place they had sown on the head… He barely registered the tugging on his tunic.

“Hey, Uncle Theon,” a distant voice called to him. “Uncle Theon, he never told me his name. I feel bad, can you ask him so-.”

“Robb.”

“What? What did I do?”

“Robb,” he whispered. “Robb’s here.”

“Yeah… I've been here-.”

“No,” he croaked out, pointing at the figure, “He's here….he-he has th-has t-the…”

He couldn't even finish as a choked laugh escaped him, tears welling up in his eyes as he laughed at the phantom of his biggest regret.

 

-~-

 

He truly hadn't meant to scare Sansa. He was too shaken to even process her horror. Now, as he sat in his chambers, he had plenty of time to feel guilty. He needed to apologize to her later. 

After the phantom behind him left.

He didn't need to face it to know it was there. The heat labored breathing, the echo of splatters of blood dripping to the floor. He didn't need to see to know he was haunted. 

Had he'd been an innocent man, or a man at all, he'd try to drown out the sounds with the feast held for the queen, or would have attempted to chase it away till it faded. But Theon sat with his back turned like a coward, and listened to the labored breaths of his guilt embodied like the guilty shit he was. 

A creak in the floor- 'Creak...Rhymes with meek. Rhymes with weak. Rhymes with...no.’- signaled the approach of the phantom. Panic filled him. He wasn't ready to face it. To face him.

The footsteps stopped, and Theon felt his blood run cold. He couldn't look at him. He was not brave enough, he was nothing. He was a coward, a turncloak, a half of a man, he was a Ree-.

“No.”

‘What? What was that? Who said that? No what?’ Suddenly, a hand so familiar grasped his shoulder, and turned him around. Reluctantly, he was faced with the terrifying head of Greywind. Yet as a scream boiled in his throat, the bloodied snout moved as labored pants came out. The direwolf eyes seemed to strip his soul bear. Yet, the slight tilt of the severed head filled him with a sense of nostalgia. He could almost see the amusement in dead eyes, could almost hear the deadpan voice feigning annoyance.

"What's so funny, Greyjoy?"

“You!" He gasped out, tears welling in his eyes. "I-I tried so hard to make up for what happened!To bury what I did, to try to forget what I did to you!"

His laugh turned broken as he began to sob. "The pathetic thing is-is that I actually thought it was working! I actually thought that if I served those I wronged, if I spent my life groveling like the worm I am, it'd be some comfort to my conscious. That if I laughed enough, things would go back to the way things were. It's ridiculous! To actually think I could forget my guilt! That I could forget you!" He began to notice the wet stream streaking his cheeks, and he forces a smile through it. "Ramsay was right! I'm fucking stupid!"

Suddenly, something hard connected with his jaw, and he was sent to the ground. Spitting out the blood from his split lip, but felt no pain. It had been quite a long time since anything really hurt him physically anymore. Something in him reared his mind, and he was about to ask for forgiveness, and to suggest which finger to cut off, till he saw the assailant. 

The wolf head was gone. In its place was the angered face of Robb Stark, looking down at him in a mix of rage and hurt, and Theon felt his heart break all over again.

"That was for betraying us."

He kicked Theon this time, and the Greyjoy grunted in genuine pain. His stomach was his most sensitive spot after being starved for years.

"That was for those farm boys."

He then crouched down to his level, and Theon looked at him in terror. Not for whatever he would do next, but out of the sheer horror of seeing him again. So alive, so realistic. Like he had been when they were young, while he himself still looked like a ragged creature. And the ghost was going to exact his revenge on the husk pretending to be a man. How poetic. He hoped it would be long and painful.

But then he felt himself engulfed into a suffocating grip. He stared into space, expecting his bones to be crushed, or at least his windpipe. Instead strong arms pulled him into a warm body. His arms hung loose as his face was pressed into the curly auburn hair, and he suddenly put the pieces together, and he'd gasped at the realization that Robb Stark was hugging him.

"And that's for saving my sister." He was pulled back, and he was able to see those Tully Blue eyes crinkle as he smiled at him. "Never forget that, Theon. Never forget that it was Theon Greyjoy who saved my sister. That saved the Queen in the North. That made her marriage to Jon possible, who made little Robb possible."

It took him a second, but once it processed, he whispered. "You were his 'friend'."

His eyes had a tint of fondness in them as he nodded."He's a great lad. A little on the serious side, but then again he is Jon's son."

Theon snorted, despite himself. "He looks like you."

"He looks like Sansa."

"Who looked like you. Remember when Lord Stark had one too many ales at the feast and asked you to show his guests your 'magnificent embroidery'?"

Robb frowned a bit, seeming to recall the memory. "Then he congratulated Sansa for knocking Jon the the ground during sparring practice."

A bark of laughter escaped Theon, and a beat later Robb joined him. It was just like old times, and he never wanted to stop. But he gasped when he noticed Robb becoming slightly transparent. Robb noticed too, and he sighed. 

"Looks like this is it, Greyjoy. I can't be here for much longer."

Theon wanted to scream. To curse the old gods and new, the gods of the forest, the drowned god. Whoever it was that was taking Robb from him again, but most of all, he panicked. He had so much to say, to tell him. How sorry he was, how much he missed him, how much he had-.

"Robb, I...I-."

"Theon, what you did to me and my family... It hurt. It hurt so much. You were my best friend, and it hurt for you to betray me. But I'm not entirely out of guilt, either... When I died, I saw what that Bolton bastard did to you, and all I could think was how could I have been so blind, how could I have trusted those monsters?"

"Well, to be fair, they had to be charming so people would forget that their sigil is a mutilated corpse."

"Still doesn't excuse my stupidity. Doesn't excuse that even if you hurt me, you were still my friend, my brother. You're my brother." He felt a hand on the back of his neck, and Robb touched their foreheads together. "I don't want you to ever forget that, Theon. Forget me if you must, but don't ever forget that you were, and always will be my man."

And like that, he was gone. Faded with the Northern winds. He wanted to cry. Wanted to weep tears of joy and pain. Joy that he was forgiven, but pain that he was alone without him again. He never was able to tell him he loved him. So he laughed till he sobbed.

You can try to bury them, ignore them, hide from them with broken smiles and hollow laughter. But ghosts are meant to be remembered, never forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review or kudo! Or both! Whatever floats your boat!  
> Next up: Showdown of the KiTNs! Who will cry the most? Who will have the most kingley tears? You will just have to see! (Actually, I'm stuck. Any suggestions will be greatly appreciated.)


	4. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Were they sins, he would be envy. For he yearned for what could not be his his whole life. Nut what happens when the dragon's envy is quenched, and the wolf mouns the fallen pack?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holly shit, its done this took forever.  
> I just want to thank all of you who supported this fic, and for all the lovely comments and kudos. Its been an amazing journey, and I can't thank you enough! You are all so amazing and beautiful!  
> Disclaimer: *checks with my lawyer* nope, still own nothing!  
> So with out further ado, here is the final installment! :3

He opened his eyes a bit, not knowing why. He looked to see if Robb had stirred, but his son was fast asleep, a small trail of drool hanging from his mouth as he snored softly. He couldn't help but smile. But he was still confused as to why he awoke. But then he heard it.

He sat up, and turned to the the side to find Sansa crouching down in front of the fireplace, hugging her body as soft whimpers escaped her mouth. Panicked, he rushed out of bed and to his wife's side, cradling her in his arms as she let out small sobs.

"Sansa, what's wrong? Is it your shoulder?" He asked soothingly, stroking her red hair as she hiccupped a cry.

"I-I...H-he just... oh R-Robb!" She buried her face in his chest and he felt his tunic soak with tears, but he couldn't care. He just held her tighter.

"Shh. Shh. Sansa, Robb's safe. You're safe, my brave girl."

"Robb...Robb's here," she sniffled, burying her face in his shoulder. "Robb's here."

"That's right. Robb's here. He's sleeping, and he's safe," he said, and she lifted her face and smiled through the tears. 

"He's here, Jon. He was here."

Confused, Jon looked over at his son, who was fast asleep, and back to his wife.

"Wait, did he wake up?"

She shook her head,and instead leaned into his chest, snuggling herself in before sighing out "Oh, you know nothing, Jon."

-~-

It was as if the previous day had never happened. It still amazed him as to how forgiving Sansa could be. Jon himself was still fairly tense around Tyrion and Theon, yet she was turned to the two lords, laughing as the dwarf related the highlights of their journey to the north, with occasional deadpanned interjections from the Greyjoy. A part of him felt a pang of jealousy. She hadn't really opened up to him, her husband, about what troubled her, yet she allowed herself to be comforted by the two people who had caused her discomfort.

"Jon! Jon, your plate!"

He looked down, now realizing he had been cutting through his sausage to hard, and had succeeded in cutting the knife into the wooden plate. He looked to Dany, who was hiding a snicker behind her hand, where as Theon and Tyrion were cackling without restrain. Robb was looking at the plate in shock and Sansa to him in outrage.

"Jon!" 

He attempted to sputter out an apology, but it had fallen upon deaf ears as Sansa asked the servants to get him a new plate. Shifting in his seat, he felt like a reprimanded puppy. But a sudden nudge to his left, and he looked down at Robb who was offering him half of his plate..

"You can share my plate, Father," he whispered, or at least attempted to. "You can have that half."

Jon looked down at the plate, before looking at his son with a teasing smirk. "I appreciate it, Robb. But don't think you can get out of eating your vegetables that quickly."

Robb looked mortified at being caught, and frowned-the same frown everyone said he had inherited from him- and mumbled, "Uncle Tormund said only southerners eat their vegetables."

"Uncle Tormund is also from beyond the wall. Everyone's a southerner to him, including you, young man."

His son's scowl deepened, and he slowly retreated his plate. Jon sighed, before an idea came to mind, and he clasped Robb's shoulder.

"If you finish those vegetables, I can introduce you to Drogon."

Robb perked up, and immediately looked up at his father in excitement. "Really?"

"Only if you finish your plate."

Robb looked down at his plate, seeming to deeply contemplate it, before he began shoveling down his greens. Sansa looked taken aback before looking at Jon with an inquisitive look, and back to her son.

"Robb, slow down. You don't want to choke."

"Bfft imw gowwin tof seew Dwogof-"

"Don't talk with your mouthful either."

Robb paused, swallowed his food, and nodded. He then proceeded to take moderately regular bites, and Tyrion chuckled.

"You have two out of the three Targaryens whipped. I must say that's quite an accomplishment, Queen Sansa!"

Despite his natural urge to tell him he was wrong, Jon had to agree. Reluctantly. Sansa was more wolf than anyone could have anticipated. They had called her dove, a child of summer, but now no one would dare. She was wolf through and through. More wolf than he is, or will ever be. And he loves her for that. But also envies her.

-~-

_Were they sins, she would be greed. Not in the thirst for conquest, she is satisfied with the North, and only the North. But it is in her hoarding of the North that she is greed. She will allow alliances between them and the south, will build bonds with the rulers of summer. But should they try to set one soldier's foot within the North in hopes of expansion, with a short command, she will set Ghost upon their throats and not bat an eye. She is a wolf, savage and fierce, and does not take kindly to those who enter her territory._

-~-

"Don't worry, he won't bite you."

"A-are you sure?"

"Come now, you pet Ghost all the time."

"B-but Ghost doesn't breath fire!"

He couldn't help but laugh as Robb shuffled away from Drogon, who was calmly resting outside the gates, and had just lifted his head to see the newcomers. Grabbing his hand, Jon guided his son to the neck of the dragon. Robb fidgeted, and strained his arm back as he was guided to the scruff of the beast.

"Just breath, son. Just relax. The more relaxed you are, the more relaxed he is."

Robb loosened up, and allowed his hand to inch towards the scaley hide. Tentatively touched the scales with his fingertips, causing Drogon to flinch and growl. Panicked, Robb stumbled back, and Jon laughed.

"Easy, Robb," he said, taking his hand back and guiding in back to the dragon. "Do it like this."

He placed Robb's hand on the dragon, causing the dragon to flinch once again. Robb was about to pull back, but Jon kept his hand still, waiting until Drogon finally relaxed, and allowed for the boy to pet him. Robb's mouth hung like a fish, and he let out an amazed laugh as he gently stroked his hand over the warm scales.

"See? Dragons will never harm their own blood." Jon said, placing his hand over his sons. "And that's what we are, Robb. This is our sigil. We are the blood of the dragon."

-~-

_But he is a dragon, and if he were a sin, he'd be jealous. All his life, he was thought to be Ned Stark's bastard, base born yet as noble as his father. But he was never Ned's son, he was Rhaegar's, mad in his lust for that which he could never have. Jealous that he could never sit with the rest of his siblings. Jealous that he didn't make it to the rangers of the watch. Jealous that he wasn't a free folk who could be free from society's persecution. Jealous of Sam who could escape the Wall and go south, where as he was stabbed, given the chance to leave, only to be chained to another duty he didn't want._

-~-

"What of the wolf?"

"You are wolf too. Even more so than dragon."

"But the Starks are the wolves. We are Targaryens."

Jon stilled his hand, and allowed a chuckle to escape .

"Your mother is originally of House Stark. As was my mother."

Robb looked at him with wide eyes, and whispered, "Really?"

Sometimes he worried his son was a little too much like him. "Robb, your mother stitches direwolves into all her embroidery. I have a direwolf. How could you have not-."

"So you knew the Young Wolf!"

He stilled his hand, and he felt his mind still as his breath caught in his throat.

-~-

_At one time, he did want it. At one time, he was jealous of one person more than anyone. The one who would become Warden, who instead became something better._

-~-

"Where did you hear that?"

"The king before you, did you know-?"

"Who told you about the previous king?" He pushed, causing his son's smile to fall. 

"M-my friend told me."

"What did he tell you?" Jon pleaded with a hint of a growl in his voice. He wasn't going to tell his son till he was ready. He and Sansa agreed on that. Their bannermen and the free folk knew never to mention his predecessor around Robb. Who in their right mind would go against this unspoken law?

"J-just the story of why he was betrayed. H-how come you never told me it?"

-~-

_How come he never told him the story?_

_It could be for the sheer fact that it was a gruesome and terrifying tale. Neither him nor Sansa wanted to subject their innocent son to such horrific tales at such a young age. Life wasn't a song, but the world they live in was better than the one they were born into. They made it better for the sake of  their son, and they just wanted him to enjoy it as long as he could._  

-~-

"Because it is not a story for children, and you shouldn't be listening to people we don't know as it is!"

"I'm not a child!" Robb insisted, his lip quivering a bit as he glowered at Jon. "Why are you so angry?"

Shocked, Jon crouched down to his son's level and attempted to pull him into a hug as he stammered out, "Robb, I'm not angry, I'm just-"

He was cut off as Robb brushed him off and sniffled, "You and mother never tell me anything! You never tell me how you met, what you were like when you were my age!"

"Robb, we're just trying to protect you."

"Protect me from what?"

He didn't answer. He couldn't answer, and Robb's scowl grew as he marched away. Jon felt his frustration rise as he barked out.

"Where do you think your going?"

"To my friend!"

Jon grounded his teeth as he began to walk after him. "You didn't answer my question!"

"And you didn't answer mine! At least he knows answers!"

Jon stopped in his tracks as Robb huffed away, and looked at his retreating form with a pained weight on his heart. Did he really berate his son for asking questions about his heritage when he himself grew up knowing nothing about where he came from?

It was not his day.

-~-

For the first time in a long time, he sat beneath the Heart Tree of the Godswood and sharpened Longclaw. He tended to stay away from this tree, as it reminded him too much of the past. Of swimming in the pools, of playing knights and maidens, of when things were simple. It would give him a sense of longing. 

Yet sharpening his blade grounded him, reminded him of where he was, of who he was. It distracted him from his own whirlwind of personal thoughts, and gave him time to focus on what truly mattered. 

"Didn't think i'd find you here."

He looked up to see Sansa, who was looking down on him with kind eyes and a knowing smile. He instantly relaxed a bit.

"Then again," she continued as she settled herself on the snow covered ground. "This was Father's favorite spot to think."

Taken slightly aback by the mentioning of Father- Ned Stark would always be his father, no Targaryen blood could change the that- he stared at her, and she smirked 

"Perhaps it is the place all fathers go to think when they are troubled."

The reason why she had come weighed on him, and he stared down at his blade.

"Robb told you?"

"I believe he told all of Winterfell. He was mumbling so darkly through the halls one of the maids nearly fainted."

He grunted, not allowing himself to laugh, considering he was the cause of such indiscretion. For this whole mess if a day

"What am I going to do with this, Sansa?"

"I believe that we are supposed to collectively deal with Robb, so you don't-."

"I mean both of you," he corrected, earning himself a frown from his wife.

"Jon, I told you, I'm fi-."

"But I'm not," he admitted, grasping her small hands in his, and looking into her blue eyes with sincere worry. "Sansa, yesterday was traumatic, and you spent the entire day as a nervous wreck. And I couldn't do anything, I felt so helpless! Yet when I wake up to you crying, all of a sudden you are fine!" He reaches out to cup her cheek, and feels tears prick at his eyes. "Do you know how scary that is for me, that you've done so much, that one touch from you can keep my demons away, yet I can't return the favor?  I feel so useless! And Robb... I can't even tell him about his history. I can't even bring myself to tell him about who he's named for! Im-"

He was cut off by a surprise kiss, and blinked as Sansa pressed her soft lips more passionately. She slid one hand into his hair, tangling the dark curls within her delicate fingers. Shyly, Jon began to return the kiss, only for Sansa to pull away not a moment later. Her hooded eyes bore into his as her red lips curved into a sweet smile

"My love, you have healed me in more ways then you can possibly imagine. Never doubt that. You and Robb are the lights in my life that chase away the darkness.” 

She pressed  another soft kiss to his lips before continuing .

“Yes, yesterday was quite...strange, but you were the one who stopped everything every single time to make sure I was fine. That's why I was able to recover so quickly.”

She rested her forehead to his, moving her hand to wipe the stray tears pricking at his eyes, and then cupped his face. 

 "You reminded me that the dark days are gone. That I have a husband who will love me as I love him.”

Far too soon, she lifted herself up, leaving Jon in awe with tears in his eyes. Craning his head to her, he saw her give a knowing smile, as she shook the snow out of her skirts, and brushed away a few flakes from his own hair.

"As for Robb... I've been thinking... Perhaps it's time we tell him."

His eyes widened as he gaped at her. She, who had been the one to insist on telling their son as little of their past as possible till he was ready. 

"Sansa, are you sure?"

"If he can slay an enemy, he can learn about his heritage. It is his past as well Jon. And I don't feel right for keeping him in the dark as we had been."

He looked to the ground, the familiar turn in his stomach arising. 

"Are... Are you fine talking about them?"

A beat passed before he got his response. "I've been meaning to visit the crypts. I will meet you there with Robb before supper. That is if you are fine with it."

Solemnly, he nodded, and didn't lift his head to see her leave. The crunch of snow was enough. And when he could no longer hear her footsteps, he rested his head agianst the trunk of the Heart Tree. Why wouldn't he be fine with it?

-~-

There was no effigy made in his liking. No remains within the empty coffin. Just his name carved into a stone slab, created out of custom had he'd not survived past infancy. They never found his remains.

But regardless, Jon stared at it as he stood. Not praying, just staring. It unnerved him that they never were able to properly bury him, and he had come far too early to remedy that. He set down the bundle on the empty crypt, unfolding it neatly as he set it out semi-presentational. Jon had no.idea what he wore after they had separated, but he had managed to find the clothing he had worn the day he had departed for the wall.

He thought it best, as he had never known the Young Wolf, only the boy befor. If he was going to tell his son this story, he would have to stick to.what he knew. But it was what he knew that caused him such an aching pain with the anticipation of his wife and son. Trying to clear his head, he kneeled to the ground, closed his eyes as he bowed his head, hoping to gain the gods favor, and supply some way of making through this.mess.

"When I said the next time I see you, you will be wearing all black, this wasn't exactly what I expecting."

He blinked his eyes open, their gaze searing into the ground as he attempted to process what he just heard. He hadn't much time as his shoulders were grasped and he was hauled up to his feet. In an instant, he felt his blood run colder than Winter itself as he was met with an agonizingly familiar smile.

"You'll have to forgive me, I wasn't able to keep up my end of the promise, brother."

Frozen as the Wall, Jon stood gaping as the impossible before whispering

"Seven Hells, I knew I shouldn't have drunk that southern grape juice.”

The apparition-for what else could it have been?- stared at him for a good minute, before bursting into laughter. It stung how familiar the sound was, but he still couldn't help but feel exasperated. Perhaps it was the stress of this day that conjured this illusion. How real he looked and sounded, yet that must've been his mind tormenting him further. Could this day become worse?

“ I can't tell whether I should be offended or to laugh over being called an illusion, Snow.”

Snapping his head to the point phantom, Jon stared at him incredulously. “Did I say that aloud?”

“Loud enough to awaken the dead."

He would have laughed, had the situation been different. Instead he groaned. He felt a comforting hand placed over his shoulder, and looked up at the phantom who smiled sadly at him

"Jon, what's truly the matter? Why are you so bothered with telling him about the past?"

Sighing, Jon mumbled out his answer,and the vision arched an eyebrow.

"Didn't catch that, little brother."

".... I said....because I shouldn't be the one to tell him this."

The illusion's eyebrows shot straight into his hairline, and he scoffed out, "Shouldn't be the one to- Jon! You're the boy's father! Who else should tell-?"

"-I meant I shouldn't have to tell him, because you should've been the one to."

There was a pregnant pause, before his imaginary companion broke the silence. "Jon, what do you-?"

"-I sometimes expect you to come through the gates...That- that maybe the Frey's kept you locked up in their dungeons or something...Then you could've..."

Taking a shaky breath, he willed himself to fight back tear

"If I tell him, I won't be able to deny it any longer. I'll have to accept that you're not coming back... And-and I can't do that! I just... just can't!"

Unbidden, hot tears rolled down his face, and he swiped at them profusely. "I was never meant for this, Robb! Winterfell, The North, the family. That was all supposed to be yours!I wanted it to be mine, but now that it is.... I'm scared, Robb! I'm so scared I'm fucking it up! Y-you were my rock! How am I supposed to do this without you?"

Suddenly he was enveloped into a warm embrace. But it was not from the spectator in front of him, it was from behind. The illusion smiled smugly, and suddenly the familiar aroma of lemon cakes and lavender filled his nose, and out of the corner of his eye he saw wisps of hair kissed by fire fall over his shoulder.

"You can start by slaying whoever told you you were fucking up in the first place. If you don't, I will."

He let out a strangled sob as Sansa buried her head on his shoulder and embraced him tighter. "Sansa? H-how much-?"

"-Enough to know that you need to nip that silly idea in the nub." She said seriously, before she lifted her head a bit. "Don't you agree?"

Before he could respond, the apparition, whose eyes were trained on Sansa, responded, "Couldn't have said it better, Sans."

Frozen as the words sunk in, Jon turned his head to his wife. His eyes wide with shock as he asked her the mad question, 

"You can see him?"

She smiled lovingly as she nodded her head, and he felt  dizzy as the meaning sunk in. Shakily, he stammered out,

"Y-you're real?"

The phantom- could he even call him that anymore- smiled sadly.

"It matters not if I'm real or not. What's important is that you're here, Jon." He Took a deep breath, before his gaze became pained. "If I was here, Sansa wouldn't be here, your son wouldn't be here. I didn't rescue the North, you did. I didn't rescue Sansa, you did. You did everything I never could do, so stop beating yourself up about not being me. I was shit, Jon. "

"But you, you are incredible, more than I ever was.You never lost sight of the people you want to protect. You deserve all you have, and you don't take it for granted. That's the difference between you and I.  The difference between a king and a fuck-up. And you, brother, are no fuck-up."

Robb then walked over and clasped his free shoulder, and sniffled back tears as he smiled.

 "Come now! I do believe you have so explaining to do to my nephew!"

Staying still for a moment, staring into the Tully blue eyes, Jon pulled himself together and nodded. Robb smiled, pulling both him and Sansa into a tight embrace.

"Words can not begin to describe how sorry I am that I left both of you in this world, but I am beyond grateful that you found each other. Just remember that I'm always with you. We all are. We are children of Winter, we are a pack. And the pack never leaves their own behind."

Suddenly, the weight of the body left, and a chilling winter's wind blew through the room. 

"Father! Mother!"

Jon was unable to face his son as the footsteps  sounded through the crypts. He felt Sansa's hand grasp his as she released her embrace and stood side by side with him. Removing his eyes from his trained spot on their departed brother's crypt, he saw her look at him in concern, before she turned to their incoming son.

"Sorry I was late! Lord Tyrion was telling me about dragons and-"

"Robb, can you come here for a second?"

He suprised himself as his voice was steady, and apparently Sansa as her brow puckered in concern and surprise. The small patter of boots brought Robb to his side, and  Jon crouched down.

"Robb, I haven't been fair to you. I just want you to know... Sometimes, parents hide things from their children not just to protect them, but to protect themselves. It can be selfish, but sometimes we try to deny that it is. And I've been selfish, I'm not going to deny it any longer. So before I continue, I just want to ask if you can forgive me?"

His son stared at hi with her Stark Grey eyes, face blank and expressionless. It worried Jon profusely, but only for a moment before little Robb tackled him with a hug. Relaxing into the hug, Jon felt tears prick at his eyes as he returned it. But not for long as Robb lifted his head and looked curiously at the crypt.

"What's my friend's clothes doing here?"

Pausing, and looking at the crypt, hon turned back to his son and asked, "Your Friend?"

"My friend I was talking about today. Those are his clothes! Eww! Is he running around nude?!"

Robb covered his eyes in disgust, where as Jon looked towards the crypt, and then to Sansa, who had a knowing smile in her face as she nodded for him to continue. Taking a deep breath,and burying the nervousness down.

"I don't know about this friend of yours, Robb, but you know hiw you were asking about the Young Wolf?"

Perking up, Robb lifted his head, his eyes open as he whispered, "You mean that's his-?"

"-Would you like to meet him?"

Robb nodded excitedly, before breaking from the hold of his fsther to scramble to the crypt. He brushed away the dust of the stone tablet and Jon's stomach twisted in anticipation. He blindly reached for Sansa's hand  as their son read aloud.

 "R-O-B-B S-T-A-R-K." Their son whipped his head, copper red curls flying like a flame as his grey eyes were as wide a saucers. "....Robb Stark? His name was... Robb Stark?"

Gathering up all the courage he could, Jon knelt next to his son and clasped his shoulder. The cold biting air whispered around,and a familiar voice sounded through his ears.

_"Breath Jon. You are a Stark, you can do this, Brother."_

"This is your Uncle Robb."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what I usually ask for, so I don't think I need to specify.  
> Thank you so much for being the most amazing bunch of readers, I love you all! And don't worry, I'm working on a big Jonsa project right now, that I'm super stocked about! So this won't be the last you see of me! Thank you so much! I love you all!
> 
> Edit: Hey Guys! So, I made a playlist on Spotify for this fic if anyone wants to check it out, here's the link:  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/iamnoman3791/playlist/64nYMXlY4wJ9pwFYtqDYhN

**Author's Note:**

> Rember. Comment, or I cry.  
> Or not, then I'll be okay! Just leave a kudos and I'll only cry for a half hour!:D Till next time! ;)


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